


Dance Alone

by orphan_account



Category: Seihou Bukyou Outlaw Star | Outlaw Star
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Isolation, Male-Female Friendship, Masculinity, Sci-Fi & Magic, Space Opera, space western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26207833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fifteen years after the crew of the Outlaw Star end their quest for the Galactic Leyline, Jim Hawking traverses multiple galaxies, to Earth. His goal is to learn how to create caster shells on his own.Within his isolation, and consumed by his attempts to marry his technological knowledge with ancient magic, Jim feels a separation between what he’s known as fact and what he’s learning about his own thoughts.
Relationships: Jim Hawking & Melfina
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. The Bone That No Longer Bears Its Light to Thee

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t usually write prefaces; however, in the show, every episode has a prelude, so I thought it was in the spirit. :)

A Phoenix cloud flexes over the Arashon desert. Under the sky’s immolation, the hemispherical structure of a stupa cleaves to the oasal crescent of lake and saxual, in the crook of the dunes. This is Lòng-Jí. At this historic site, the meteorite upon which the code of superluminal travel was inscribed, was born from its impact site and its riddles translated. Here, too, a young man commits to his studies.

The stupa betrays no signs of being inhabited, until dusk snuffs the Phoenix cloud’s fire and the dunes no longer hold the sun’s heat. Then, a pinprick of light appears and moves along the multiplane windows of the undulating staircase which joins the stupa and several hovels. This is the home of the genius technician, Jim Hawking.

Why does this young man live alone, in a harsh wilderness on mankind’s forgotten planet? What work consumes his mind and body?

  
To be continued.


	2. Asterism of The Cygnus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim may have a successful shell to contain the powerful Tao incantations. Exuberant, he has little patience to delay his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Jim Hawking as a 27-year-old man is proving quite the jigsaw puzzle. I am having fun, though, so I hope any readers are as well. :)

Within the dead-tasting air of the Lóng-Jí stupa, Jim sits encircled by industrial fans. Their heavy, beating blades create a droning throughout the dome of the building. Across his lap are coils of electrical wiring and he holds a delicate soldering tool with the flair of a surgeon.

Jim ends the soldering flame and unhinges the sanguine lenses of his goggles. “Hey, Gill!” He calls in no particular direction. “I think I got ‘er ready for another test.”

Gilliam III, a copy of the XGP’s maintenance A.I., in the form of one of its helper bots, extends down a line of wire to hover over him. “Jim, I would not advise another test until we have run a scan of the building’s structural integrity.”

Jim pulls his goggles free completely and glares at the bot. Welts under his eyes, caused by the suction of the goggles’ face plate, intensifies the look. “Weren’t you doing that while I was fixing the wiring?”

“I was not. I need direct commands within the protocols you’ve established for this workspace—”

“Alright!” Jim rubs the sweat casing his skull into his hair as he mutters: “Sheesh. It’s always _my_ fault.”

“Would you like me to scan the building for possible damage incurred during the last test?”

Jim barely contains an exasperated huff. After a small, steadying inhale, he answers. “Won’t you please, Gilliam?”

“Of course, Jim. You need only command so.” The A.I. pleasantly responds.

“Great.” Jim repositions his goggles, dragging the tight strap over a band of matting in his buzzed hair. “While you’re at it, kick on ether Engines 1 and 4. 60% output. We’ll need a lot of juice to make this work.”

Gilliam III remains where he is. “Jim,” he says, “it has occurred to me that this location may no longer be suitable for your current stage in the project.”

Ignoring the A.I., Jim swings his legs over the mass of coils and scattered fasteners. “Hm.” He pretends to consider the caution offered. It’s not intended to be a sleight to Gilliam’s analytics, but the warning does not touch his heart amid the adrenaline of his experimentation.

Past the circle of fans are other obstacles: machinery, servers, worktables, toolboxes as tall as his chest— and broader— and many more, scattered fans. These technologies now form the guts of the stupa, which stood sepulchral in the bare sun of the Arashon desert three years ago, when Jim’s ship landed. He’s long since acclimated to the desert, grown as salt-bitten and reserved.

Gilliam III retracts his wire, skirts the railing system in the dark-above, then lowers again at the row of monitors where Jim has stopped. “Jim.” He persists. “I have mentioned that my readings indicate this structure is thousands of years old. It dates back to the end of the Fixed Stars era.”

“Old news, Gill. I told you what this place was when we were on our way.”

“Yes, Jim. I recall the conversation. This is The Dragon’s Impact, a place of ‘ingenious inspiration.’ However, now that you’ve constructed a shell you deem capable of containing a Tao incantation, and considering the volatility of these materials—“

“Gill,” Jim interrupts. As a desperate measure to silence his companion, he laughs. “Relax, would ya? I’ve got this all under control.”

“Perhaps a more stable environment would be aboard the _Outlaw St_ —“

“Gilliam. You’re supposed to be my maintenance interface, not my conscience.” Jim’s retort ricochets all through the stupa’s hollow chamber.

“Very well, Jim. I will consider my warning acknowledged.” Gilliam says. With a chirp, he adds: “Commencing ether engine preparation.”

The bot reels himself up his wire and Jim feels a little remorse for his brash tone. Gilliam II, this A.I.’s father-program, would have argued longer. Even after three years, Jim always expects that inexhaustible last word.

As a concession, Jim calls: “Let me hear the report on the building’s stability, when you’re done.” Then, he mumbles to himself. “Geez, who’d have thought living in the middle of nowhere with an A.I. would be so domestic?”

Again, Gilliam’s voice projects over the whirring fan blades. “Jim.” The modulation through the speakerphones issues its own sense of urgency.

“Those structural scans done already?” Jim attempts nonchalance. Whatever the A.I. is bothered over now cannot be given too much credence or this test will never happen. He hunches over one of the monitors before him, features lost in the auroral screen-light. 

As Gilliam gives his news, Jim stills each muscle. “The ship I detected yesterday, in the Earth’s orbit, is hailing us.”

For a long moment, only metal hums and ancient earth groans. Then, Jim throws his focus onto the keyboard at his fingertips. Clacking keys, he asks, “Did they identify?”

“They say they are _The Cygnus_.” 

“Deny the transmission, Gill.”

To be continued.


End file.
